


Arsenal

by graveparty



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Blasphemy, Doublespeak, Frenemies, Gen, Guns, furiosa perfects the art of manipulation, pre fury road
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 07:25:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8277644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graveparty/pseuds/graveparty
Summary: Furiosa sharpens her people skills and builds up her supply of weapons in the War Rig.





	

With darkness brewing at her back, Furiosa cut down the dusty road to the Bullet Farm in the pick-up truck they'd affectionately taken to calling Cranky Frank. It wasn't the most chrome ride in the Citadel's fleet, but it packed a deceiving amount of horsepower assuming you knew how to handle the peculiarities in shifting.

The Bullet Farmer had made an urgent mid-day request after the axle of his primary hauler started to display troubling deficiencies. At the Immortan’s order, Furiosa mobilized a small crew of War Boys to lend their allies at the Bullet Farm the best welding machine known to the Wasteland.

Frank's escort was light for the special mission and flanked only with fore and aft moto-lancers. The Ace towered behind Furiosa in the back of the truck, grenade launcher slung around his white-painted chest. He was joined by their newly-promoted lancer, Tim. Both were on the lookout for road traps and abnormal movement in the periphery, allowing no room for complacency on this familiar route.

Furiosa caught enough of the signal glinting between the Citadel and Bullet Farm to piece it together: "WILL SND TH MSSG"

She furrowed her grease-blackened brow and gripped the wheel tighter. " _Gladly_."

The hairs on her neck stood at attention and she wanted so badly to just fang it into the horizon and boost far, far away from the watchful eye of the Immortan's Tower.

She heard the thunk of the Ace’s boots on metal truck bed as he moved to crouch near her shoulder at the driver's side window . "Boss, we headed through the south gate today?"

Furiosa considered the clouds mounting behind them, still closer to the Citadel but likely to be raging before long. Activity would be amped in the surface mine in anticipation for the storm. The roads inside the main gate would be crawling with slower excavators and haulers. "Yeah, we'll use the south entrance and load in quicker. I'll take point inside."

"Got it, Boss. I'll signal when we get close."

They both knew the bike leading the small convoy hadn't taken the south entrance before and could easily get lost in the winding Farm roads. Ace remained close to the cab for a klick then resumed his standing position to holler at the moto-lancer crews.  
  
"Fall back! Fall back! South entrance!" His black-greased hand commanded their direction and Furiosa took the lead from Hexie and Morsov on the front motorcycle. She maintained her speed and began to feel more at ease as the distance between her and the Citadel increased.

As they meandered the winding switchbacks of the Bullet Farm, Tim gaped at the cranes swinging overhead and tried to make sense of the impressive network of telegraph wires and railroad track veining the excavated terraces. A blast from the mine boomed in the distance and sent up an orange cloud of pulverized desert. He retreated into his own shoulders, not prepared for how the explosion had shaken the teeth in his skull.

Ace sensed the startled younger War Boy next to him. "Eyes on, Tim. Lot going on round here." Losing focus or becoming careless in a place like this could have you staring down the wrong end of a hauler. Tim nodded and tightened his grasp on the handrail of his Lancer post.

They reached the Receiving Bay at the foot of the second plant's smoke stack and were guided in by an older rev-head. He held a fist up signaling the truck to halt once they were tight on the loading dock. "Ace! Furiosa! I see your old Frank rides again!" He set his knuckles on his hips and continued to chide them. "Better that jalopy’s safe in my shop than grounded in the storm."

Furiosa ignored his remarks and waved to him from her wheel in greeting. Even though it had been well over one thousand days, the man still joked about that _one time_ their old-but-reliable truck had stalled out at the gates. She focused instead on setting the parking brake and positioning the kill switches.

She saw a flash of white in her side mirror as Ace hopped down from the back of the truck and slapped the man on his yellow back. "Good to see you, Khyber. Say, they release you to the open road yet? Or are you still tied to that half-cocked rail system round the Farm?"

Before a friendly comeback could be supplied, Furiosa detached Frank's wheel and stepped between them to hand it over to Ace. He stowed it with his rucksack of valuables and got back on task ordering Morsov, Hexie, and Tim to unload the bulky welder to a push-cart wheeled in by a Bullet Boy. Their two remaining Crew set to securing the bikes and airing up the convoy’s worn tires.

The Ripsaw Imperator joined the group in the receiving bay to deliver a memo. "Imperator Furiosa. The Major requests you and your Second at evening meal in his quarters, once the next shift is signaled."

"Yes, Ripsaw. And see to it that the Citadel is notified we will shelter here through the storm tonight."

*****

The Bullet Farm’s shift change sounded: a succession of three blasts and a tuft of yellow smoke at the guard shack nearby. Furiosa and Ace left Khyber and his crew with the welder and walked the path to the plant next door which housed Major Kalashnikov's quarters. She quickly scrubbed off the ring of dirt and sweat she felt around her neck and tossed the shop cloth to Ace to use. He wiped off the heaviest grease from his palms and contemplated how tonight's meeting might go. "Y’think anything new'll turn up in the return cargo? Been a while."

Furiosa shrugged and pulled open the door to the third plant. "That's why I always do the talking." A subtle grin sat below her green eyes and Ace nodded his agreement.

She arched an eyebrow at him and gestured to her own forehead. The Ace sheepishly followed her implied order and positioned his goggles to rest above his eyebrows. Kalashnikov demanded eye contact when running a deal. Even more so indoors.

“Now we’re in business.” Furiosa wanted every imaginable detail in place for their meeting. She’d wanted to darken up the black on her forehead but couldn’t spare the time to find a mirror and some grease.

Ripsaw passed them in the corridor on the way to his own supper and paused his stride to address them. "Major's ready for you." He waved and continued his relaxed pace after the pair acknowledged him. They’d caught the Bullet Farmer in a reasonably good mood, Furiosa mused.

Furiosa and Ace stood at attention before Major Kalashnikov's table, their heads high and hands clasped behind their backs. It had never been their way to salute him the V8, and he hadn't bothered to offer another substitute.

"At ease. Sit, both ah'ya."

Kalashnikov had ordered a modest spread for the evening. The meal was a barley cake and root veg, the highlight being a pour of his own crafted whiskey for each of them. They kept easy conversation and traded noteworthy Buzzard activity from their most recent runs. Ace supplied a few tactics they'd used to shore up the War Rig escort. Furiosa made sure to mention that their latest strategy had been to supplement Lancer activity with gunning, though it hadn’t taken off as well as they’d hoped due to their current weapons situation. Their words moved in a new direction as the Major turned deliberately to Furiosa's second.

"Now tell me, Ace. Are the Tower's supply of War Boys able to bounce back should there be extra raids on the upcoming harvest transfer?" They all know Ace is the most in-tune to War Boy dealings and is reliable to give a straight report.

Ace paused from his barley cake and considered the Major’s question for a moment. "Numbers have leveled off, for now. Don't expect much of an upswing in the litter of War Pups til after the bounty. Don't plan on losin' many either, in the raids."

Furiosa intervened before Ace revealed too much, and was met with a stern but expectant look from the Major. “That brings us to the Immortan's messages, Major." She nodded and glanced to her second.

Ace took that as his cue to quickly down his tin cup and stand. "Major. Appreciate th' hospitality. As always."

Kalashnikov watched him leave and addressed Furiosa. "For a time, your Ace was also called the Excavator. Back then the boy could wield a mean pick-axe and clear the Tower stones with those shovel-hands of his. Barracks’d be a helluva lot smaller had it not been for him." He made his way to the open flame at the furnace and Furiosa followed, bringing her drink along. She hadn't often set aside time to consider the Citadel's early days as it was not her own history.

He relinquished his heavy headdress of bullets to its stand on the mantel and scratched through his matted hair. He then sank into a padded green chair, the only sense of high-life Furiosa had ever seen in the utilitarian Bullet Farm.

"The Immortan is well, yes?" Kalashnikov clawed into the thinning fabric of the chair's arms, leaning slightly towards her.

Furiosa stood beside his station at the chair and focused on the flames ahead. She took another sip and folded her arms comfortably, letting herself fall into the familiar routine their meetings tended to follow. "The Immortan sends a good report." She answered dutifully, but allowed him to initiate the depths this session would take.

Kalashnikov's eyes gleamed under grey tufts of eyebrows. "That so, eh? Tell me, Furiosa. Have his men finally fixed that speaker system? Been able to filter out Joe's sputtering and wheezing down to the Wretched?"

"Were that possible, I'm sure he would have made it so by now. Corpus continues to direct communications." She looked to Kalashnikov, pleased at the way things were headed.

"Yes, good. And the heir? No announcement since last Council, I assume." He unsheathed a favored pistol and absentmindedly clicked the safety a few times, fidgeting as Furiosa decided her next response.

"He's hopeful for the harvest, as we all are." That one was boilerplate and they both knew it.

"And the Revolvers? How has he been maintaining them?" He rapped the pistol against his knee and his grip tightened, bony knuckles drained of all color. She could tell he was becoming restless and wanted to hear something new, something he couldn’t get from anyone else in the Citadel.

She shook her head. "The Prime attends to that duty. When he can make time for it." She turned back to the fire and focused on maintaining a straight face. Good, he's almost where she wants him.

Kalashnikov clucked against his ammo incisors and grumbled to himself. " _I warned him. Man’s only as healthy as his sidearm_.” Even now, the Major did not dare to order out the cleaning of his personal armament. He shuffled through several jacket pockets until he found a glass vial of liquid with a rubber stopper. He offered it up to Furiosa in annoyance. "Here, Furiosa. Make sure he gets this as soon as you return."

She recognized the vial filled with a special formulation of gun-cleaning oil, continually being perfected by the People Eater’s engineers.

" _Now_ , Furiosa. Have you anything else to relay?" He surmised she was withholding something troubling, and wanted to glean more from the Ace’s comment she’d interrupted at dinner.

She hated that she had to offer the next parcel of information, but she'd been in the company of the Bullet Farmer longer than usual tonight and had to make it worth her while.

"There's a...sickness. Claiming our Pups this season."

"The night fevers?" He straightened from where he was slumped comfortably.

"Something else. Organic says it'll pass in time." Truth be told, no one really had a feel for how it would shake out and it had planted a sense of unease in the War Tower. She took a breath and continued. "The Wretched aren't offering up as much for new Pups." Ace hadn't exactly lied about the leveling-off in production.

That's it. She has him and it will be worth it for her Crew, she knows.

"Very good, Furiosa." He released his long-held grip of his weapon and took to drumming the arm of his chair. "The return haul, you'll agree, is going to be very profitable for you..."

She holds her breath in anticipation but doesn't allow herself to hope for too much.

*****

In a box of a room considered guest quarters, the Ace sat on a thin mattress with his back to the rough brick wall. His boots, belts, and bulkier pocket tools were stacked neatly next to the oil lamp on the floor. He tossed up an arms-length of lead pipe he found around Khyber’s garage, catching it in time between swigs of his canteen as he tried to recall a tune from Before. "Bullets rip...sound'ah the beat...'nother one bites the dust." He flipped the pipe a few more times and started the tune over quietly. "Bump. Bump. Bump. 'Nother one bites the-"

The door creaked open and he halted to see it's just Furiosa. She entered and closed the door behind her, pulling her black Imperator scarf over her head. She surveyed the scene, his black fatigues rolled to the knee indicate he’s about to turn down for the night. "Good, you’re still up."

Ace raised his small canteen of newly-won homebrew. "Don't like to leave my projects half-finished." A saunter through the barracks had turned him a profit when his Crew and a few Bullet Boys invited him to a rowdy game of Racers. A foolish Bullet Boy had challenged him, mistaking him as just an old War Boy good for brawling and turning wrenches. There was some simple math involved with the game but it largely came down to sticking to a consistent strategy.

"Sides. Still no proper wheel shrine 'round here." He pointed around the room with the pipe. Bare of the Immortan’s symbol and only a faded relic on the door with schematics for Emergency Exits.

Furiosa dismantled her series of belts and hung her metal arm on a hook next to Ace's goggles. He got up from the mat and fashioned a door barricade with the lead pipe by wedging it between the frame. "No proper latches, either." He punctuated this statement with the clank of a large spanner to further secure their quarters.

Furiosa removed her Imperator’s belt housing the wheel symbol and affixed it to the last empty hook, nodding to the Ace. She sunk to the mat and pulled off her boots, setting them with their pile of valuables. She laid on her stomach and watched as Ace knelt before her hanging insignia on the wall. The flickering lantern caused the shadow of his fingers laced in the V8 to dance across the room.

" _Grant us a smooth road and a safe return. Continue to raise up our Imperator. Receive our youngest brothers who pass this evening. Veeight._ "

His offerings were efficient, familiar to Furiosa save for his last plea. He lifted his linked hands again in closing and brought his palms to his uncovered knees with a sigh. He got up slowly and padded towards the mat, not looking forward to hearing of the newest round of Pups the sickness claimed once he was back at the Citadel.

Furiosa smiled and patted the empty space next to her. Now that Ace's evening ritual was squared away she couldn’t wait to tell him the good news.

He stood above her and stretched his shoulders out. "Said your evening prayers yet, Furiosa?" His tone turned playful, one typically reserved for Pups about to bed down.

"Sounds like you raised up enough for the both of us." She grinned through her drunkenness and smiled more as she tried to contain her good news.

"Got somethin’ to say? What's it, then? Go on." He laid down and mimicked her position on the mat, his chin resting on his crossed forearms.

Another booze-soaked giggle from Furiosa. "Can't help it that I'm in high spirits with three letters on my mind. Wanna guess?"

He cocked an eyebrow toward her. They were always direct with each other, though the whiskey could muddle things. "You lookin for a ride, or somethin?"

More laughter from her. "No, no! About the deal! Lemme restart. _S...K...S._ "

His jaw dropped and breath escaped him. "Rig's got a proper rifle now? For true??"

She closed her eyes and nodded sleepily, pillowing her head on her short arm.

He whistled into the wall ahead. "Glory, me! Is she scoped?"

"Don't know yet. We'll retrieve it from the Armory in the morning."

Ace put out the lamp and scanned the room to adjust his eyes to the darkness. Tipsy or not, his situational awareness was continually being calibrated. The two proposed a few tactics on how to best use the SKS, debating on whether to fabricate a mount for it in the cab or to keep it out of sight, away from their enemies and allies.

Before drifting off, Furiosa thought again on the mysteriously-ailing Pups at the Citadel. Their condition now caused her to keep eyes on for her Crew more than usual. "Tim all right? The Pup was shakin' in his shorts earlier."

Ace reasoned a moment. "Just out of sorts, here. Don't think he's spent a full night outside the War Tower." He turned on his side to face the blockaded door. He's the second line of defense if anyone is foolish enough to breach the lead pipe barricade. "Have 'im guarding the truck with Morsov tonight. Case any Bullet Boys get creepin'."

Furiosa turned to the wall and listened to the sand storm whistling outside. "Night, Ace." She arched her neck to conk the backs of their skulls together.

"G'night, Boss." He conked his head back to Furiosa’s in acknowledgement.

Fueled by the feeling of returning triumphant with a new rifle to add to the War Rig’s arsenal, and satisfied with Ace’s report that the Crew remained in good health, Furiosa allowed herself to sleep and burn through the alcohol in her system.

*****

When Furiosa journeys up to the Immortan's Tower late the next morning, she is received by the Prime Imperator and ushered to the side of their leader’s empty throne. She hears Him before anything else, air bellows crinkling and footsteps scraping across the stone with purpose. He lumbers into her field of vision, his sheer bulk catches her by surprise no matter how many times he looms near her.

"Imperator Furiosa! You have returned through the storm without loss. And the Major? He is well??"

"Yes, Immortan. He sends his regard. And a gift." She holds up the vial of gun oil and places it on the ledge next to her. "New formula from Gas Town. Spec’d to the needs of your Revolvers." It takes a well-practiced willpower for her to contain the aquifer of hate bubbling below her calm facade.

He spits out a chuckle. "Ah! Kalashnikov...the meddling bastard. He deals more in the state of my weaponry than the state of our alliance. No matter, there's too much time before our next Council to let this one slide." A new interest on his horizon, he waves her away and roars to the Prime Imperator to man the heliograph for a retort to the Bullet Farmer.

Furiosa offers a low V8 and hikes back to the War Tower, grateful to finally steal away from the petty banter of the War Lords she’s had to endure over the last day. She’d have an extra spring in her step after this successful Bullet Farm venture were it not for the hangover she’s fighting. A detour through the mess hall for a ration of steaming bean broth, then she'll see what progress Ace has made on the new rifle mount in the cab of the War Rig.

 

* * *

 

 

AN: Thanks for reading my first MMFR fic. :)

Ace's backstory as told by Kalashnikov inspired by the works of the lovely [eag](http://archiveofourown.org/users/eag/pseuds/eag).

The Racers game mentioned is a version of Mancala, one of the oldest games known to civilization.

 


End file.
